


using the sheets til the late a.m.

by ToAStranger



Series: Luster [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Rutting, Werewolf Courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	using the sheets til the late a.m.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



> Prompt: And okay, last prompt of the day. I can't keep hogging you attention. Another moment from the steter/stalion courting story. A new threat's in town, witches maybe, and they're targeting Stiles because of his Spark. They manage to snatch him one day and Peter and Duke come to his rescue. OR TWIST, it's Peter and Duke that are in trouble and it's Stiles leading the cavalry. Because BAMF Stiles. Your pick.

Stiles isn’t sure how he got where he is, but he figures it has something to do with the way his head is pounding.  There’s a sharp ringing in one of his ears when he squints to consciousness.  The smoke trying to billow into his eyes doesn’t help. 

The fire crackles in front of him, and he doesn’t even have to squirm to know that his bound securely to the tree pressed to his back.  His tongue feels heavy and dry, like it isn’t quite his own, and he takes slow deep breaths as he comes to.  Better not to panic and hyperventilate himself back to unconsciousness.  

“Awake, are you, dear?”  A sugar sweet voice asks, and Stiles glares up at the witch without apology.  "And here I was starting to think you’d miss all the  _fun_.” 

She’s pretty on the surface.  That’s the thing about glamours these days though; Stiles can see through them pretty easily.  What might appear to be a young, fresh face to others looks cracked and worn to him.  There is decay behind her flesh, and Stiles can smell it on the wind.  

For a moment, he’s angry that he hasn’t been rescued yet.  The last thing he remembers is going out for an afternoon jog with the sun still high in the sky.  It’s dark out, now.  Pitch black around where the light of the witch’s fire does not reach.  His temples throb and he wonders how long he’s been out. 

Instead of falling into irritation, he sneers up at the thing that would be pretty if it weren’t for the way her magic has rotted her to the core.  ”My wolves are gonna rip you to pieces.” 

She backhands him.  He smiles up at her with red teeth and laughs. 

“Is that really all you’ve got?”  Stiles asks, eyes bright, reflecting like wild in the warmth of the fire, refracting gold and amber and deadly intent.  "Smack me around, harvest my Spark.  And then what?  You really think you’ll get away?“ 

"You’ll shut your mouth or I’ll stitch it shut,” she hisses at him.  

He falls silent for a moment, regarding her.  ”What’s your plan?” 

“My plan?” she asks, kneeling by the edge of the fire, coaxing sparks from the wood as it breaks— Stiles sees them flare in pretty different shades and wonders if his Spark shines in some particular color or not.  "My plan is to suck you dry, leave your husk behind, and maybe while I’m at it make pretty fur coats out of your dogs.“ 

Stiles laughs again.  ”Yeah.  Because that’s going to happen.” 

Stiles feels them before they even arrive.  He really is disappointed in this woman, this witch, but he supposes the darkness with which she is working has rotted more than just her body.  Her mind isn’t very sharp— there isn’t even a protective barrier of ash around them.  

However, Stiles is surprised to see that it is only Deucalion and Peter that emerge from the shadows like darkness themselves.  They work quickly and efficiently together.  As Deucalion works him free of the rope, not even hissing at the burn of wolfsbane on his palms, Stiles hears the resounding snap of the witch’s neck.  He can’t bring himself to feel bad about that.

Deucalion helps him to his feet, and then Peter is there with a hand pressing to the nape of Stiles’ neck, eyes still glowing blue.  Pain leaches away, and Stiles’ knees almost buckle.  They both hold him up easily.

"Took you guys long enough,” Stiles mumbles, head a bit fuzzy, but thankfully not pounding anymore.  "Or were you just waiting for me to wake up so you could play knights in shining armor?“ 

Peter grimaces.  ”She very effectively covered up your scents.  It was difficult, tracking you down.” 

"The rest of the Pack?" 

"Don’t know,” Deucalion states.  "Though, your father is perfectly aware.  He was there when I came by to drop something off for you and was surprised to hear that you weren’t with either of us, nor Scott.  He’s waiting for you at home.“ 

Stiles snorts and moves to walk away from the mess of dead witch on the forest floor, but his vision swims and he nearly falls.  Two pairs of strong hands catch him.  Stiles is rather surprised to see how well they work together, both ducking under either of his arms as they hold him up.  

"I think he may be concussed.”  Deucalion states.  

Peter gives him a dry look.  ”Yes, thank you, I noticed.”

Okay, so maybe they don’t work very well together.

“How’d you manage to convince my dad to stay behind?”  Stiles asks instead as they guide him along.  

“It wasn’t hard.  He knows what we’re capable of.”  Peter replies, arm tightening subtly around his waist; Deucalion is quick to echo the sentiment.  "He’ll be happy to have you back safe.“

"Yeah,” Stiles breathes.  "Thanks.  Um… y’know… for saving my ass from getting mummified.  Not really how I wanna go.“  

"I assure you, Xenyck, it was with great pleasure that we dispatched her life.”  Deucalion states, and Peter growls.  

“Shut up,” Stiles mutters, swatting at the beta’s shoulder and Peter quiets instantly.  Stiles can’t help but enjoy the bit of power he possesses over these supernatural creatures that could tear him asunder.  "Get me home.  I need to curl up in bed and watch The X Files until I pass out.“ 

* * *

Of course, when he gets home, his father insists that at least one of the wolves stay with him.  Both volunteer.  

"I’m sorry, kiddo, but I’ve got nightshift.  And we’re—" 

"Short staffed,” Stiles replies, pressing the bag of peas to the back of his skull with a wince.  "I get it.  It’s cool.  Need to make sure I don’t fall into a coma and die.  But I  _can_  just call Scott.” 

The Sheriff frowns down at him.  ”To be completely honest, Stiles, these two men just saved your life.  And they seem to have a very… unique interest in keeping you alive.  I think I trust them a bit more than your best friend who just so happens to frequently fall asleep during your all-nighters.” 

Stiles puffs out a breath.  ”He doesn’t  _always_ —” 

The Sheriff gives him a dry look, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yeah, okay.  But I’m not happy about it." 

The Sheriff chuckles, patting him on the shoulder.  ”Neither am I.  But it’s either that or the hospital—” 

"Definitely not." 

"That’s what I thought.”  John nods, and then glances at where the two men— werewolves— are hovering.  "I don’t need to remind you about those special bullets and the fact that I have an entire police force ready to jump the second I need them, do I?“ 

Stiles looks over his shoulder to see them both shake their heads in eerie synchronicity.

Johns inhales slowly.  ”Good.  Best behavior, all of you.  I’d really prefer not having to get my hands dirty.”

Stiles grins to himself and leans up into the soft kiss his father places at his hairline.  ”Have a good night at work.”

"Never.”

“No junk food." 

"Of course not.”

“Liar.”

John smiles as he walks out the door.

There’s a lull of quiet.  Stiles slumps in his chair, breathing in and out slowly as his eyes fall shut.  A hand lands on his shoulder, and Stiles doesn’t have the energy to jump.  

Blinking at it, he follows the arm up to meet Deucalion’s concerned expression.  ”Are you alright?”

“Tired,” Stiles replies honestly.  There’s not use lying to them, they’ll know anyways, so he’s gotten used to just telling them what they want to hear than beat around the bush.  

“How about a shower then?”

Stiles’ brow raises slowly, cheeks burning, and Deucalion just grins.

“I meant by yourself.  Unless you have other ideas?” Deucalion says. 

Stiles shakes his head.  ”Um… No.  Yeah, no.  Shower and then sleep.  Sounds good to me.”

“We’ll wake you every two hours.”  Deucalion says.  "Take turns of it.“

"Okay,” Stiles replies softly and stands.  He hates the way he misses the warmth of Deucalion’s hand on his shoulder.  

* * *

Werewolves, as it turns out, are particularly clingy.  Stiles isn’t really surprised, all that pack mentality going on.  He would expect this behavior out of Scott and Isaac, for sure.  Not so much Deucalion and Peter.

They have him cocooned between them, like their bodies can shield him from the world.  It’s ridiculous because Stiles barely fits on his bed, and yet here were two other fully grown men in it with him.  He was fairly certain that when he’d laid down to sleep, he’d been very much alone, and yet here he was being woken up with gentle kisses along one of his shoulders.  

He’s not weirded out.  He’s not.  He’s  _definitely_ not aroused.  Not at all. 

Except for the fact that both wolves breathe deep, and Peter makes this rumbling sound of approval from where he’s pressed against Stiles’ back.  Deucalion slips a leg between Stiles' and nudges at Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles swallows thickly even as all the blood in his body goes south.  He may not be quite awake, but his cock certainly is.  

“Not the wake up call I was expecting.”  He rasps, breath catching as the arm Peter has around his waist tightens and pulls him back against the hard planes of the his body; Stiles can feel his interest, and his own body echoes it.  

“Any objections?”  Peter asks, teeth grazing that spot beneath Stiles’ ear that leaves him trembling for a moment. 

“Is this—?  Does this mean—?" 

"No, Stiles.”  Peter assures with a gentle kiss to his rabbiting pulse.  

“That takes something quite a bit different than just a bit of heavy petting.”  Deucalion adds, and Stiles’ moans as fingers trailing down over his chest.  "We can stop though.  If you have reservations?“ 

He pauses, thinks, then shakes his head.  ”Nope.  None.  Absolutely not.”

Peter and Deucalion share a look, and then they’re touching, kissing, groping.  Stiles finds himself rutting forward against Deucalion’s hip as Peter grinds against his ass, and he moans when the Alpha cups the hard length of him through his boxers and squeezes.  

It’s a bit of a mess.  All rocking hips and breathy sounds.  It doesn’t take much— how could it, two extremely hot men touching him, jesusfuckthey’rehotlike _burning_ — and when Stiles comes in his shorts with a soft cry, they’re both quick to follow like it’s the best thing either of them have ever heard.  

Stiles is still panting afterwards.  Peter pets gently through his hair, whispering soft things to Stiles that the younger man isn’t really listening to.  He holds him as Deucalion gets out of the bed just long enough to grab a wet washcloth.  He cleans Stiles off gently and strips him down before tucking him easily back beneath the covers of his bed, giving him the modest covering he might’ve requested if Peter wasn’t already lulling him back to sleep with soothing touches and words.

It happens more than once that night.  They wake him, and he’s already hard or the process of waking him gets him hard.  They ask if it’s alright, and touch him until he comes before finishing themselves.  They clean him up, and then let him drift back to sleep.  

When Stiles wakes with sunshine glinting in through his windows, he’s sad to find them both gone.  There is a note though, sitting on his bedside table.  

_There is fresh fruit in the fridge.  You have our numbers if you need anything else.  Deucalion has left a new tome on your desk.  There is a USB stick next to it with new scans from my collection as well.  Don’t spend all day reading._

_\- Peter_

If Stiles smiles to himself as he stretches languidly in bed, that’s his business.  It’s definitely all his business if he lazily jerks off for the better part of the morning before finally crawling out of soiled sheets, a dopey grin on his face for the rest of the day, headache completely forgotten. 


End file.
